


In Vino Veritas

by petrodactyl352



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), Castlevania (Netflix), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, Multi, POV Trevor Belmont, Post-Season/Series 02, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrodactyl352/pseuds/petrodactyl352
Summary: It's been a shitty day.They've been traveling all morning and all afternoon, and when they finally,finallystop for the night in a pathetic excuse for a town, tempers are running high—and all Trevor wants to do is drink and drink and drink until he can't see straight and he forgets everything that happened in the last forty-eight hours and he passes out in a ditch somewhere. Is that too much to ask?When there's a certain irritatingly handsome half-vampire involved, apparently yes.***In vino veritasexclamationUnder the influence of alcohol, a person tells the truth.Latin, literally 'truth in wine'.





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I know. It's only been two days since I last posted a story, but what can I say? I told you I'd be back soon, and this is soon enough for me, I don't know about you guys. ;)  
> This story just took hold of me and did not let go, so I sat down for like three hours and finished it, and amazingly enough, I'm satisfied with it. So I've brought the wheel full circle; I have one story in Sypha's POV, one in Alucard's, and now Trevor's. And I'm pretty happy with all of them, so that's one less thing to worry about.  
> Warnings:  
> Drinking and innuendo (POV Trevor should give you warning enough for that).  
> Some mild violence, not really much though.  
> No smut again, but lots of suggestive content.  
> Sophomoric humor galore, which is a warning in itself.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

The bite of alcohol was sharp, and it was like a curl of fire in his mouth. He was too used to it to wince at its sting, and swallowed it with something akin to ease, feeling the burn of it as it trailed a path of flame down his throat and sent tendrils of warmth through his veins. When it stopped burning, the world had acquired a strange shimmering quality, his senses duller and his body heavier. Even his thoughts had slowed down to a murky, sluggish pace, and he was beginning to find it difficult to focus on a single thing at once. 

He knew he shouldn't be getting himself drunk; it was late, and he'd have a hell of a hangover the next morning. But he didn't care. He just didn't want to think about anything, or anyone. 

They'd fought again, all three of them—it had been about something silly and trivial as usual—he'd already quite forgotten what they'd fought about, the memory of it lost in the haze of drink. He'd been angry at them, both of them, and had stormed out of the room, thinking something along the lines of _Fuck this, I need a drink. Or several._

So he'd dutifully located a tavern, chosen a secluded little corner, and had attempted to drown his anger in the taste of bitter, cheap beer and the sight of the pretty, curvy bartender, whose eyes he'd felt on him for the better part of the evening. With each tankard he emptied he minded it less and less, and even returned her curious glances after his fifth ale.

He'd nearly forgotten how that felt; he'd been on the road with Sypha and Alucard for so long that some smaller things about his past had faded away. Before Gresit, there'd been other cities, other bars, other women. He remembered the first few times he'd noticed them watching him—a flutter of lashes, a fleeting glance, a brush of skin on skin when they passed his table. He'd taken their invitations, the first few times; and then it was all heat and shared breaths and the desperate tearing of clothes, the creaking of the cheap beds they'd use and the sound of his own harsh breathing mingling with softer gasps and moans, and the frictionless slide of skin slicked with sweat. 

This was the first time in a long while he'd seen a pretty girl he didn't know watching him. It didn't feel quite the same as it had before he'd met Sypha and Alucard, but it was still refreshing to know he could still grab their attention. Even if he didn't quite know whether he wanted anything out of it or not.

She _was_ pretty, he decided, with dark hair pulled up in a loose knot that spilled curls and large brown eyes with long dark lashes to match. Of course, it didn't hurt that her dress was a smidgen too tight at the waist and chest, showing off full, feminine curves, either. She caught him watching her, and she sent him a smirk, a single eyelid dropping in a lazy wink. 

He felt his lips pull up, and saw her eyes drift to a door behind the bar, hidden among the shadows that had gathered there. She looked back at him, the message clear in her widened smirk and darker eyes.

Oh, well. He deserved some fun, after all the shit they'd gone through lately. They'd been traveling for the better part of the last four months, and he hadn't done anything even remotely scandalous since before Gresit, since he'd met them—Sypha and Alucard. He hesitated when the thought of them passed through his mind, gripping the edge of the table with his fingers. Something between them had been different ever since they'd killed Dracula, that was for sure, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what. And he didn't want to think about what they'd say if they knew what he was going to do. 

But they weren't his parents; they didn't need to tell him what to do. And even if it was, for some reason, because of them that he was hesitating so much, he didn't answer to them. But all he could think of was how angry he'd been before he left, how Alucard's normally soft voice had been raised in a shout, how Sypha's eyes had been shining with tears before he'd slammed the door. And he couldn't even remember why they'd been fighting. Again. 

_Fuck it,_ he thought finally. _I can do whatever the fuck I want._

He kicked his chair back and stood, feeling the world tilt around him as he did. He moved towards the bar, wondering not-so-idly how on earth he'd manage to see straight enough to take his own clothes off, much less the barmaid's. He supposed he'd just have to let her do all the work.

He'd just reached the bar and was about to move around it when he felt a firm hand catch at his arm, spinning him around. Before he even laid eyes on his manhandling assailant, he automatically said, "It's not the Belmont crest, leave me the fuck alone, you—" he stared. " _Alucard_?"

"Shut up," hissed Alucard—for it was indeed Alucard who stood there glaring at him with his hand gripping Trevor's arm. "Do you want everyone to know Dracula's son is in their village?"

"I—what?"

Alucard glared again, shaking him slightly. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

"No." He wobbled on his feet, blinking at Alucard blearily, who sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes, you are. I should have guessed—running off like that, where else could you have gone?" He still hadn't stopped glaring. 

"Let go of me." Trevor shook his arm, scowling, and Alucard relented, his hand falling away from Trevor's arm. Immediately he listed, grabbing the bar for balance as he sat heavily on a stool, sighing. "You here to gloat or what?" he slurred, squinting up at Alucard, who appeared to be shimmering and blurred at the edges, raying off light as if he were a star. He blinked hard, but it didn't go away. 

"Sypha sent me out to look for you, actually," Alucard said, swinging himself gracefully onto a stool next to Trevor. His shoulder brushed Trevor's lightly as he leaned back, and for some stupid reason the contact made him blush. "I searched all the alleys here thrice before I remembered your penchant for alcoholism." He wrinkled his nose at him in an expression that was probably meant to be disgusted but just ended up making him look cute. 

"Well, I can handle myself," Trevor said, leaning his elbows on the bar. The barmaid was now also looking in an appraising fashion at Alucard as well as him, which for some opaque reason annoyed him greatly. He knew he couldn't really blame her; Alucard _was_ quite good-looking, if one could get past the fangs. He looked at him discreetly out of the corner of his eye. Yes, he really was quite good-looking, for a half-vampire and all that.

He had elegant cheekbones, and pale, high-colored skin, and perfect lips that had just the right hint of fullness to them that made them almost soft, and the pale gold hair that tumbled around his finely boned face set his pallor off almost unfairly well. And the sleepy gold of his almond-shaped eyes shot through with lighter chips of amber and copper, that were fringed by pale eyelashes were... were looking right at him. 

He raised a single, elegant eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." He looked away quickly, inwardly cursing himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? What the fuck was wrong with his _thoughts?_ It must have been all the drink. 

Alucard raised a hand to brush that single curl of gold that always fell onto his forehead, and the movement bared his throat to his gaze; the perfect alabaster of his skin and the pulse fluttering softly beneath. Trevor quickly looked away again, his stomach flipping over. 

Yes, it was definitely the drink.

Trevor flagged the barmaid, signaling for another ale, needing to get rid of all the terrifying thoughts about Alucard that were springing up in his brain with apparently no warning. Alucard grabbed his arm again, turning the full force of his golden glare on him afresh. "What on earth are you doing?" he hissed. "You can't drink any more!"

"Oh, yeah?" He attempted to dislodge Alucard's grip. "Watch me."

The barmaid set a tankard in front of him, leaning unnecessarily far over the counter, giving both Trevor and Alucard an unhindered view down the dipping neck of her dress. They both turned towards her and blinked, wide-eyed, and Alucard dropped Trevor's arm immediately. 

She smiled flirtatiously, leaning further towards them. "Nothing for your... _friend_ here?" she asked, placing lavish emphasis on the word 'friend', leading Trevor to believe she thought they weren't friends. Which they were... weren't. Or were they? 

"No, nothing," said Alucard, and his eyes were still wide. He appeared to be forcibly looking at her face and not down to her ample décolletage, which was threatening to spill from its confinements. "Er... thank you."

She sent them another coy smile, then left, still smirking. The moment she turned around Alucard whipped his head around to glare at Trevor yet again, his cheeks now faintly pink. "Why did you have to order another drink?" he whispered furiously. "We need to go, now."

"No, we don't. You can, if you want." He lifted his tankard at Alucard mockingly before taking a long draft, Alucard glaring at him all the while. He set the tankard down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "There."

Alucard shook his head, turning to the front again. "Dealing with you is like dealing with a child," he spat, folding his arms across his chest. Trevor scoffed, taking another drink. "And dealing with _you_ is like dealing with an old man," he retorted. 

Alucard's eyes narrowed, sparking as he turned to look at Trevor. Without looking away from him, he brought his hand down on the table, hard. A sharp noise rang out as his palm made contact with the wood. "A drink here," he called, still glowering at Trevor.

Trevor raised his eyebrows, feeling his lips pull up into a grin as the smirking barmaid set a tankard down in front of Alucard, who, while still louring at Trevor, lifted it to his lips and drank. 

Trevor's brows climbed higher and higher every time Alucard swallowed, and finally, he slammed the empty tankard down onto the bar, having drank it all in one go. He was breathing hard, lips glistening and eyes glittering and cheeks pink, and he blinked at Trevor a few times. He winced at the likely sharp taste, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, that is disgusting," he said, and his voice was already faintly slurred. 

Then he shook his head as if to clear it of flies, clearing his throat. "Another," he called, tapping his tankard, and Trevor's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline as he gripped the now refilled tankard, raising it to his lips again. He set it down a minute later, and it was half-empty, the contents inside glimmering an innocent gold. He didn't wince this time, but his eyes were almost unnaturally bright now. 

"I still can't tell why you"—he shuddered—"love to drink, Belmont, this stuff is vile." He picked his tankard up again, attempting to take a dainty sip and misjudging the rim's distance from his mouth. Golden liquid sloshed everywhere, spilling over Alucard's spotless white shirt and running from the corners of his mouth. "Bugger," he said, blinking down at his damp shirt and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. "And I'd just washed this as well."

Trevor snorted. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Mm-hmm." He took another drink, emptying the second tankard. He set it down, and the barmaid immediately whisked it off to be refilled, before Alucard could even ask. When she set it in front of him again he leaned forward, smiling at her before his fingers wrapped around the tankard. "I must say," he said, and his voice was definitely uneven now, "your services are most appreciated." 

Trevor goggled at him. Was Alucard _flirting_? He didn't think he'd live to see the day; he'd always imagined Alucard as the uptight, chaste suitor sort of person, but apparently alcohol really could ruin all one's inhibitions, and not just his own. It was nice to know, despite everything, that Alucard could get drunk just like everyone else he surrounded himself with. 

"Well," the barmaid said, leaning over the counter again. This time, however, Alucard didn't seem to be able to help his eyes from dropping, his cheeks reddening as he looked up with apparent difficulty. "These services aren't my only specialty," she purred, and sent him a coquettish smile that, to Trevor's disbelief, Alucard returned, leaning across the counter himself so that their faces were inches apart. "I'll keep that in mind," he said silkily, his eyes dropping again. The barmaid turned, smirking at Trevor as she did. 

"You idiot," he muttered to Alucard. "What do you think you're doing?"

Alucard ignored him, taking another obnoxiously long drink. "What, so it's perfectly acceptable behavior when you do it, but not when I do it?" He glared somewhere to Trevor's left, his amber eyes unfocused. "Before I came in, you..." He gestured behind him, vaguely. "You were going to fuck the barmaid, weren't you?" 

Trevor winced. "Say it louder, I don't think they heard you in Arges."

"Well, you were going to," said Alucard indifferently. "And I'm fine, Belmont. You needn't worry yourself about me, though it's sweet of you to be so concerned." He grinned, taking another drink. 

"I can't believe this," muttered Trevor. "Dracula's son can't hold his liquor."

"I most certainly can." His brows drew together. "I simply have... never drunk this much before. Is this why you do it?"

Trevor was momentarily thrown. "Do what?"

"Drink so much. Because of this release. You do what you're afraid to do whilst sober, and blame it on the alcohol." He gestured grandly. "And nobody questions it."

Trevor blinked at his tankard. "I... to some extent, yes. But I prefer getting drunk to forget things. Remember we fought, before I came here?"

Alucard squinted at him. "Vaguely. It was a dark time."

"I can't remember why we did. And that's why I'm drunk. I'm drunk so I could forget why we fought, so I suppose I succeeded." He shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. "It's foolproof."

Alucard nodded musingly. "I see what you mean," he said. "Even I can no longer recall what we fought about. Interesting." He inspected the beer inside the tankard before decidedly finishing it off, coughing once he emerged from behind it. "Horrible," he said, his tongue darting out and running over his lips. "This tastes horrible."

Trevor rolled his eyes, sitting back. "Could've fooled me."

Alucard sighed deeply, leaning back and closing his eyes. There was a long silence between them, and finally Alucard spoke, his eyes still closed. "I was so terribly alone, you know," he said softly. "After you and Sypha left me in the castle. There was nothing there for me besides the ghosts, and for weeks afterward I considered joining them. Every day I opened my eyes and I wished I would never have to, ever again." He sighed, dipping his head so that his hair whispered around his shoulders, hiding his face from view. 

"I dreamed of you," he said, and his voice was barely a whisper. "You and Sypha. Every night, I saw you in my dreams. I begged you to come back." He took a shuddering breath. "And then I would wake, and there would be tears on my face. And the whole day I would think only of you."

Trevor could only look at him, unable to speak. Hadn't he, too, dreamed of Alucard while they'd been away? Woken up every day with golden eyes burning in his mind? He'd had Sypha, and she'd had him, but it had never felt truly complete somehow. They'd both longed and ached for him, feeling the space he'd used to be and wished he was there. And finally Sypha had confessed one day in the wagon, her voice small. _There's something missing,_ she'd said. _We are not the same without Alucard. I—we need him, Trevor. Can't we go back?_

"And when you came back..." There was raw emotion in his voice, something there never was usually. "I thought it was another dream. Another ghost. But then Sypha ran into my arms, and I felt her there, and I knew you were real." He lifted his face, and his eyes were bright, but dry. His fingers grazed Trevor's cheek, lightly, and it felt like there were sparks trailing in their wake. "I was complete again. I didn't just want you; I needed you. I still do. God knows I don't like to admit it, but I do."

He made to drop his hand, but Trevor's fingers apparently moved of their own accord, lacing with Alucard's where they rested on his cheek. Alucard's eyes fluttered open, the hazed-through gold of them falling onto Trevor. His face was open, unguarded; he had almost forgotten that while Alucard's countenance was alluring, his expressions were incandescent. 

So little conveyed so much—the line between his eyebrows was concern, the darkening of his eyes was confusion, the tightening of his mouth was vulnerability. Doors that were usually firmly shut, when he wasn't inebriated. A saying ran through his mind, randomly, one he'd heard from hundreds of people countless times, like a jackrabbit zigzagging through his thoughts. _A drunk man always tells the truth._ It faded from his consciousness almost immediately after he thought of it.

"Alucard," he said, and Alucard shook his head firmly, his fingers tightening on Trevor's almost bruisingly. His eyes were bright, as if with tears, but Trevor couldn't tell. "Adrian," he said, his voice firm and sure. "You'll call me Adrian. It is my name; the name I was given, not the one that was given to me."

"Adrian," Trevor said. 

He exhaled, his eyes closing for a moment, a shiver running through him. Trevor felt it, too; it was somehow so much more intimate to call him by the name he had been born with, the name his parents had called him by and the name he'd known himself by for the entirety of his childhood. It felt good in his mouth, his tongue curling around the sound of it—it sounded _right_ , above all else, his voice hugging the syllables of his name and settling comfortably between his lips. 

He blinked at Trevor, and his lips were slightly parted, the tips of his fangs insinuating themselves between them. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide. Trevor could see the vulnerable line of his throat move as he swallowed, and even with the haze of alcohol clouding his mind and the way Alucard's—no, _Adrian's_ , he thought—nearness was somehow more intoxicating than all the drink, he couldn't help but admire the small, involuntary movement, the fluid grace of it.

But drink had robbed him of all that, and he was the most human Trevor had ever seen him. Even his voice was uneven, not its usual smooth timbre edged with sardonic boredom and lazy sarcasm. It was as if he was looking at someone else, another Alucard, one whose expression was stripped down to the elegant bones of his face. 

"Sypha told me once," said Trevor, and he was amazed at how steady his voice was, though it was more than slightly uneven, "she told me that I was always sad, that I'd gotten too used to the feeling, and I couldn't even tell anymore." He scoffed lightly, picking absently at a stray splinter in the handle of his tankard, his other hand falling away from Adrian's cheek. "You have no idea how much I thought about what she told me that day."

"And are you?" His expression was enigmatic, almost innocent, amber eyes wide and slightly unfocused. 

Trevor was caught slightly off guard. "Am I what?" 

"Always sad." He tilted his head to the side, like a curious bird. His sheets of pale hair cascaded over one shoulder, falling till the tops of his black leather gloves. He narrowed his eyes slightly, squinting out at Trevor through his lashes. 

Trevor looked away from him, swallowing hard. _No,_ he wanted to say, but the word stuck in his throat. _Sometimes,_ he could say, but that wouldn't be the whole truth, either. He looked down, unable to think of a reply. "I..."

He felt a light touch on his face, and he leaned into it almost involuntarily, his eyes closing. Adrian's fingers were light and cool on his jaw, and the touch felt almost familiar and safe, the same way Sypha's did—but this was subtly different, laced with something else, something unique to Adrian. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

"I've always wondered how you got this." Adrian's thumb ran lightly, almost tenderly, over the scar that ran from his forehead and sliced through his left eye. "Though I feared I would insult you if I asked you about it. Or unintentionally evoke bad memories."

Trevor's eyes fluttered open. "I got it when the church took the house," he said, and even as he said it all flashed behind his eyes as if he was still there, as if he was twelve again and watching with horror as everything he'd ever loved turned to ashes. He'd tried to stop them, lunging at one of the priests holding a torch. He hadn't realized then that he'd been holding a blade too, hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes. 

He still remembered the pain that had exploded across his face, the blood that had run down his face like tears. He'd thought he would lose his eye, that he wouldn't be able to see anymore. The panic that had come with the thought had been blinding, numbing, blotting out all other feeling besides excruciating pain.

And he still remembered his mother's scream when she saw the bloody gash across his face. The last sound she ever made. 

Even now, so many years later, it made grief spread in his chest like a block of ice, and bitterness in a burning dichotomy like flames inside him. He'd stumbled into the woods, bloody fingers pressed to his eye, unable to cry for the pain he knew it would cause him. He'd prayed, for the first few weeks, huddled in his father's cloak and shivering with fever and infection, praying to God to spare him, to heal him, to help him. 

But God had never answered him. 

He'd had to learn to survive on his own, to learn the hard way which leaves would stop the swelling in his eye and which would inflame it. Which berries would stave his starvation and which would poison him. Which water could sate his thirst and which could make him sick for days. He stopped praying; not because he'd stopped believing in God, but because he'd stopped believing that God cared. He was on his own, and he couldn't rely on anyone but himself. 

"Sypha was right." Adrian's soft voice broke through the haze of memories in his mind, bringing him sharply and abruptly back to the present. He was looking at Trevor, the corner of his lips turned down. His finger traced across Trevor's scar again, and he suppressed a shiver. "You are sad."

His chest ached. "All the time?"

"All the time."

He dipped his head, allowing his hair to fall over his face with a sigh. "Maybe I am. I don't know. But if you think I'm sad now, you should've seen me before I—" He slammed his mouth shut, his brain catching up with his mouth before he could say any more. He felt his cheeks burn as he looked away. 

"Before you what?" He sounded amused, almost, as if Trevor's abject embarrassment amused him in some obscene, opaque way. There was a tiny smirk on his face. 

"Nothing," mumbled Trevor. 

"Oh, go on, Belmont, it can't possibly be that bad. You can tell me, I won't laugh at you." He was grinning now. Git. 

"Before I met you," Trevor snapped, feeling his cheeks flame even more. "Satisfied now, you bastard?"

Adrian's fingers dropped from his cheek abruptly as he jerked away suddenly. He looked entirely taken aback, something Trevor hadn't been expecting. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. "Oh," was all he said, finally. 

Trevor shrugged, and just to give himself something to do besides blush and not look at Adrian's stupefied expression, he picked up his tankard and took a purposefully long drink. It burned in his throat, and burned in his stomach too, and the taste of it was almost acerbic in his mouth. He made a face. _God, I'm sobering up._

"We should go," he said once he'd finished the tankard and he felt sufficiently intoxicated again. "Sypha's probably wondering where the hell we are."

Adrian gave an almost guilty start, wincing. "Sypha—I'd nearly forgotten I left her in the room." He stood, then lurched immediately, catching himself before he could stumble. "I think it's time to go as well."

Trevor had just stood up when something caught hold of his arm, wrenching him back. He stumbled, caught off guard, and turned to see a leering man, his narrowed eyes fixed on Adrian. Trevor shook his arm off angrily, stepping back. "What do you want?"

The man pointed. "Vampire," he hissed. "He's a vampire."

The whole bar went quiet. 

"Dhampir, actually," Adrian said helpfully. "Only half-vampire, if you must know—"

"Adrian, now might be a good time to _shut the fuck up,_ " muttered Trevor. He turned back to the man, raising both his hands. "Look," he said. "No, he isn't a vampire, and yes, we were just on our way. Come on." He grabbed Adrian's arm, pulling him along towards the door. 

"There were vampires here a couple months ago," snarled the man, cutting across their path, an ugly scowl on his face. He jerked his chin towards Adrian. "They slaughtered half the village. Your mates, maybe? Or were you one of 'em?"

Adrian shook his head, lifting his hands in a gesture of placation, but Trevor could see through it, through his artifice of calm and down to the coiled springs of tension beneath. "No," he said. "No, I don't know about any of that—"

"Liar!" The man lurched forward, and Adrian sidestepped him with ease. He stumbled forward, losing balance, then wheeled back around, his lips twisting further. "They killed dozens of us, dozens, in the middle of the night—you've got a hell of a lot of nerve, comin' here, _vampire._ "

"I'm not a—"

"Shut up!" The man swung blindly, and Adrian, who would, in normal circumstances, have dodged easily, was caught off guard. The man's fist connected solidly with his jaw and he stumbled, giving a muffled sound of pain. When he raised his head there was a purpling bruise on his cheek. His eyes narrowed. 

He lifted his hand to his mouth, pulling his glove off with his teeth, making sure everyone in the room could see his fangs. He dropped it to the ground, then pulled his other glove off, flinging it away. He strode right up to the man, who was looking fairly pleased with himself, calmly reached back, and punched him in the face. 

Clearly, even when completely intoxicated, Adrian was strong— _really_ strong. The man was lifted off his feet, and he flew through the air, crashing into the far wall. Everyone was staring at Adrian, who calmly shook out his fist, rolling his shoulders. He glanced at the other man, who was sliding down to a crumpled heap to the floor, where he lay, unmoving.

And then all hell broke loose. 

Trevor had been in his fair share of bar fights. He'd seen far too many of them, if he was being honest, and he'd seen all and every manner of them—dirty, ugly, bloody, coarse. But this was a whole other level of dirty bar fight, one Trevor would, if he could have, steered far clear from if he wasn't a part of it. 

But he _was_ a part of it; that was the problem. 

It was a tangle of flailing limbs, yells of rage and pain, beer and sweat. Before Trevor fully understood what was going on, he had already been punched thrice and elbowed twice, once in the face and again in the stomach. He felt his lip split, and a quick flash of pain briefly distracted him, blood trickling down his chin. 

It had escalated instantly into a gloriously dirty fight, complete with chair-throwing and biting and bottle-smashing. Of course, wherever Trevor went, bar fights seemed to follow him about like a puppy hoping for scraps; the moment he fed it a little, it'd jump on him. He couldn't even pass through a town without getting into a fight or two. 

As if in slow motion he saw someone's foot come swinging towards him. Grabbing it, he tugged and twisted, and his would-be-assailant went down with a crash and an enraged yell. He spun towards another man, kicking him in the chest, sending him sprawling. Immediately after, someone's foot connected with his side, and he lurched, pain exploding across his chest.

"Bastard," he snarled, turning and punching the man hard in the face. He fell, clutching his broken nose, blood spurting across his fingers. Trevor turned, wincing; his knuckles were raw and split already, starbursts of torn skin and aching bone. He willed himself to ignore it, turning back to the fight.

Adrian was fighting with a sort of reckless abandon, and he was clearly enjoying himself immensely—having never been in a bar fight before, he assumed. He was more used to 'classy' fighting, as he put it, fights that didn't involve kicking and punching and swearing. He was cutting people down effortlessly, and while he lacked his usual grace, he was still unparalleled. 

Trevor saw the shadows at his feet shift, and turned quickly, raising his forearm to block a blow. He felt his opponent's fist ram solidly into his arm, and swore as dull pain radiated from the spot. He'd definitely be bruised all over by the next morning. Just what he needed.

He kicked the man's legs out from under him, then punched him in the jaw on his way down, so he'd stay down. Then he whipped around, ready to block another hit, but none came. He blinked, looking around. 

He and Adrian were the only two men standing—bruised and bloodied to some extent, but still very much on their feet. Everyone else was sprawled all over the place; on the floor, on the bar itself, across tables and chairs. A few stirred feebly, but everyone else was mercifully unconscious. 

Trevor glared at the bartender, then tossed a coin onto the bar. Adrian jolted out of his momentary daze and made to do the same, but before he could, Trevor grabbed his arm, turning him around and marching him towards the door. "Don't bother," he said. Adrian protested weakly, and he cut him off with a firm, "It's on me."

"Now we're buying each other drinks?" He shook off Trevor's grip, raising a teasing eyebrow as they left the bar, stumbling towards the inn they were staying at. It was probably just after midnight, the cloak of night wrapping around them like liquid blackness. The moon was a silver coin in the sky.

"Shut up."

"Eloquent as always, I see."

"I said _shut up_ , Adrian."

He laughed softly and his eyes glittered, leached of color by the moonlight. They looked more silver now than gold. He turned towards him, sculpted lips curving upwards into a smirk. "I do like it when you say my name, Belmont."

"That's fucking it." His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Adrian's coat. Casting a quick look around to see whether there was anyone about, he hauled him into a dry, narrow alley between two houses. The darkness swallowed them whole as he dragged Adrian sufficiently far, then shoved him up against the brick wall, his lips crashing onto his with bruising force. 

Adrian responded immediately, his long, slender fingers clutching at Trevor's shoulders, kissing him back roughly. He pulled him closer, one of his hands sliding into Trevor's hair, gripping hard, and it sent heat racing down his body. He tasted like cheap beer and snow and Adrian, and it was a thousand times more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol he could drink. 

His body where it was pressed against Trevor's was lean but muscled, slender but strong, deceptively so. His lips were soft in comparison, full and slightly chapped, and as Trevor's fingers tangled in his pale hair they parted in a gasp. He leaped upon the distraction and thrust his tongue into his mouth, relishing in the soft groan that spilled into his mouth. 

He yanked himself away, breathing hard. Adrian was similarly breathless, his eyes half-hooded and glimmering dark gold, lips slightly swollen from kisses and the collar of his shirt gaping open at the neck. A pulse of intense wanting shot through Trevor, so strong it nearly made his knees buckle. 

"Well," said Adrian, not looking away from him, still panting. "That is one way to go about making me shut up."

His fingers knotted in Adrian's shirt, pulling him closer. "Would you rather I used some other method?"

He leaned forward, his fingers tangling in the hair at Trevor's nape, their lips just brushing, achingly softly. "Never," he breathed. 

Their lips met again, but this time it was softer, less desperate. Their lips fit together perfectly, and so did their bodies, lining up neatly. Trevor's fingers pressed to the small of his back while Adrian's slid down his chest, yanking ineffectually at his tunic, then just as fruitlessly at his belt. 

"Dear God, why do you wear so many fucking _clothes_?" he growled, yanking harder. Trevor laughed against his mouth, his own hands sliding effortlessly beneath the hem of Adrian's thin white shirt, his fingers meeting cool, smooth skin and flexible muscle beneath. 

Adrian's fingers tightened in his hair, slowly pulling his mouth from Trevor's and yanking his head back, his lips just touching the side of his neck. The very tips of his fangs grazed his skin and it sent a shiver spider-walking down his spine. He knew they were probably doing this because they were both drunk, and exhausted, and half-out of their minds, both from relentless travel and the fight. But he had to admit he'd wanted this for a while—even when he was with Sypha, it had never felt truly complete. 

Adrian's fingers traced across his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss. He returned it all too willingly, his hands moving restlessly over the planes of his body, as if he couldn't touch him enough. Adrian was murmuring softly as if in approval, a hand sliding into his hair and letting the strands tangle around his fingers. 

"Which way did they go, d'you reckon?"

Trevor jerked back, his hands still under Adrian's shirt. The voices echoed in the alleyway, loud and sonorous and distorted. Adrian's wide gold eyes found his, and his lips were slightly parted, and he was panting. Clearly they were all still looking for him and Adrian after they'd all come to in the bar—and they'd find them soon. 

"Shit," breathed Trevor. 

"Run," Adrian hissed back, and his hand slid down Trevor's arm, his fingers gripping his tightly. They fled from the alley just as the first of the townspeople arrived.

***

The door of the room they'd rented for the night closed behind them and both of them sagged against it, out of breath from having run across the village as fast as they could while trying not to be seen. It had proven difficult, and they'd had to cut through numerous alleyways, and as a result it had taken twice as long as it should have.

Trevor looked up, still panting, and saw Sypha half-propped on the bed, her head lolling against the bedframe. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was regular and shallow. She'd clearly fallen asleep waiting for them to return, and the thought made a pang of guilt resonate through his chest. 

"The poor thing." Adrian drew up to the bed, putting a hand on her cheek. She turned her face into his touch, murmuring in her sleep. "We probably scared her to death."

Trevor leaned forward, careful not to wake her as he slid an arm behind her back, the other looping under her knees as he gently laid her on the bed. She didn't notice, sleeping peacefully on, her strawberry blond curls in endearing disarray. Adrian carefully covered her sleeping form with a blanket, tucking it under her chin as if she was a child before drawing away. 

They both looked fondly down at her for a moment, watching her sleep. She seemed so peaceful, all the lines worry had drawn on her smooth, young face erased by sleep and her lips slightly parted. Trevor moved to the other side of the bed and sat down heavily, sighing. 

Adrian sidled up to him, eyes glimmering. "We were rather rudely interrupted back there, wouldn't you agree, Belmont?"

He looked up at Adrian's smirking face. "I'm inclined to, yes," he said. 

There was a blur of black and gold and white and then suddenly he was sprawling across the bed with Adrian rolling on top of him, his long lithe body pressing Trevor to the mattress. His hair spilled around Trevor's face like a curtain woven from pale gold, as if to hide them from the rest of the world. "Then allow me to continue where we left off," he said archly.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to Trevor's, and the taste of cold wind lingered in his mouth. Trevor pulled him down, allowing their legs to tangle together, their breaths passing frantically between their lips. Finally Trevor pulled away, out of breath. 

"We'll wake Sypha," he murmured, looking around at Sypha's still form, whose back was to them as she slumbered on, blissfully oblivious. 

"Well then, she can join us," said Adrian with a small smile, cocking his head to the side. Trevor laughed quietly. "Why did I have a feeling you were going to say that?" 

"Because," Adrian said, "I'm fair and inclusive."

"Because you're needy," Trevor corrected him fondly.

"Mmm." He pressed another soft kiss to the corner of Trevor's mouth. "Though I do intend to get _some things_ done before she wakes." He smiled innocently.

"Your intense subtlety is not lost on me," Trevor said, but he couldn't help the stupidly happy grin that had spread across his face. "You're ridiculous when you're drunk, you know that?"

"Yes, you've already established that fact more than once." He tried to kiss Trevor again, but he dodged fairly easily. "Well, it was worth repeating."

"I'm sure." He leaned down, his index finger trailing slowly along Trevor's cheek. His eyes were soft, and their lips brushed lightly, lightly enough that Trevor felt his lips move against his when he spoke again. "I hope you understand what I mean when I say I'm glad you're here," he said quietly. "I know it isn't under the best of circumstances, but... I'm glad you're here."

Trevor hid his smile, reaching up and letting his fingers slide into Adrian's hair, pulling him down again. "Me too," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love a comment telling me what you all think! <3


End file.
